The Dashing Decade Poet, philosopher, Laureate Wit, Ian Reed by name, That his posterity may be preserved, I set him down in fame. His rise began in infancy When he enacted Churchill's part Continuing through adolescence When the Queen proclaimed his art. But in his adulthood, sad to say, Britain expelled her son. It seems he tried to usurp the throne And rule there just for fun. One night in Buckingham Palace, His coup had almost worked, But for an incident with a rabid corgi, The dog just went berserk. This bitch named Fergi, it would seem, Was rather vexed and riled For bonnie Prince Andrew had trifled with her: She was feeling quite defiled. The Queen came bustling down the stairs that night In nightcap clad, and gown: "Andy, what are you doing to that poor little dog? For God's sake, put her down!" This consternation brought the guards in force And then the jig was up Our hero's scheme was put to flight By a royal randy pup. And little better fared his latter bid To wear the Danish crown: His true identity was given away By his melancholy frown. That and the tights of black he wore Betrayed a tragic actor, And no royal house of Europe then Would be his benefactor. The British long arm of the law In act of infamy Despatched him thence to Australia And a penal colony. But even in confinement He yet pursued the good fight And won great fame and prominence For his daring, cunning flight. Miraculously he escaped (Surely an angel intervened) And then his image, once so tarnished, Was gloriously redeemed. Soon after, he was canonised For services to man, His stint in the French Foreign Legion, The race of life he ran. For writing the epic Beowulf And parts of Genesis, We owe him a great debt of thanks For literary bliss. The Magna Carta too! At Runnymede he trod. Among his notable patrons Are Milton, Shakespeare and God. Now lives he in America: "The colonies" he's apt to say And there lives rather peacefully To write, to act, to play, To dance and weave his wittery, An artist set apart, And founding Wits Anonymous A sanctuary for the heart. The fabled Order of the Wit Garter He founded, fostered, led, And by his penchant for poetry, Our hungry souls are fed. The American Association for Wittery Taught our spirits how to lift. Today we remember him fondly To honor his wondrous gift.